


The House in the Verdant Wood

by dragon_with_a_teacup



Category: Good Omens (TV), The House in the Cerulean Sea - T. J. Klune
Genre: Banter, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Orphanage, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_with_a_teacup/pseuds/dragon_with_a_teacup
Summary: Aziraphale Fell is a by-the-book caseworker for the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. He thinks he's content with his life, until he is sent to inspect an orphanage he's never heard of. There, he meets children deemed too dangerous for anywhere else, but he can't help wondering why. And then there's the master of the orphanage, Crowley, who is as mysterious as he is charming. Aziraphale finds himself flustered, not only by this new situation, but by the idea that he might not be able to remain unmoved by it all.Inspired by the novelThe House in the Cerulean Seaby TJ Klune.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: GO-Events Book Fest





	The House in the Verdant Wood

**Author's Note:**

> In an ideal world, the Venn diagram of _Good Omens_ fans and _The House in the Cerulean Sea_ fans would be a circle. So this is my attempt to make this world into a more ideal one.
> 
> Like, listen, I swear I went feral about _Cerulean Sea_ the first time I read it. It's so wholesome and hopeful and made me feel like I was being hugged when I really needed it. It's a story of learning what it is to be loved for who you are, of finding where you belong, and discovering that family can be something you make. It's an absolute delight and honor to bring these themes to the forefront of the GO world, and to explore the GO characters in new ways. I hope you'll join me on this journey, and that you have half as much fun reading this as I've been having writing it.

Aziraphale Fell was nothing if not fastidious. His reports were pristine, nary a typo in sight. He considered himself observant and detail-oriented.

That was not to say, however, that he was detached from his work.

So, when facing his supervisor, Mr. Quentin Meyer, who was glaring at him—an expression made all the more alarming due to his impressive sideburns—he wondered what on earth he could have possibly done wrong.

“Mr. Fell,” Mr. Meyer snapped. “What did you do?”

Ah. Well, at least he wasn’t the only one in the dark.

“I’m…” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“This.” Mr. Meyer dropped a piece of paper onto his desk. “You’re to attend a meeting tomorrow, alone, with Extremely Upper Management. So. What did you do?”

Aziraphale’s eyes flew wide open. “With Extremely Upper Management? But why…?”

He glanced around, making eye contact with several coworkers, who were peering at him from neighboring cubicles. Several of them raised their eyebrows at him, or sneered, probably imagining redecorating his workspace. Not that decorations were allowed here.

“I’m sure I don’t know!” Mr. Meyer exclaimed. “But you must have done something. Extremely Upper Management don’t ask for personal interviews with just anyone.” He glared, and Aziraphale resisted, barely, the urge to shrink back in his seat. He could face this man, he reminded himself. After all, he had once dealt with a little boy who could read one’s mood with a mere look. The trick was not to show weakness.

“I truly don’t know what this is about,” he said, voice thin but steady.

Mr. Meyer scowled. “Well. Nevertheless, you’re to report to the head office tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late. Or do, and they’ll sack you.” His expression made it clear he would take particular pleasure in that if it were to happen. He would no longer have to deal with Aziraphale that way.

Aziraphale unfolded the paper with a grimace. “Yes, of course. Jolly good.”

Mr. Meyer scoffed and turned to leave. “Back to work, all of you!” he barked, and the clatter of computer keys resumed immediately.

Aziraphale, though, stared down at the paper in his hands.

> **Department in Charge of Magical Youth**
> 
> **Extremely Upper Management**
> 
> We formally request the presence of AZIRAPHALE FELL, caseworker GO-10-4004, at a meeting, on FRIDAY, 12 JULY, 9 a. m. at the head office.
> 
> Alone.

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath. “Bugger.”

— — —

He spent the rest of the work day completing a report of his latest inspection, trying and failing to ignore the specter of doom that was the note, once more folded and shoved into his squeaky desk drawer. He found himself glancing at the drawer every few minutes, as if afraid it would burst open and the note would grow fangs and swallow him whole.

He wouldn’t find it surprising; he had seen stranger things in his line of work.

“Focus,” he breathed to himself, and fixed his eyes on the computer once more.

_Young Noah’s abilities have begun to manifest in more stronger—_

What was he doing? “More stronger” wasn’t grammatically correct. Honestly, old boy, buck up.

_—to manifest in increasingly powerful ways, culminating in the incident which necessitated my inspection. The master of the orphanage, however, has indicated to me that the legs that Noah was able to attach to the treehouse have been successfully removed and the damage to the garden shed has been repaired. The other instances of his powers, as well as any punishments the master has seen fit to inflict, are noted below—_

Aziraphale hesitated. Noah had a remarkable telekinetic ability, which seemed to only affect building materials. The legged treehouse was the tip of the iceberg, from what Aziraphale could tell. One of the other orphans had whispered to him, when the master had stepped out, of how he had created a boat for them all to play in during their trip to the lake. It had been fun, but the master had punished Noah for it. Called him a freak, a monster, an abomination. Locked him in his room for over a month, even.

Aziraphale knew what needed to be done. Toward the end of the report, he wrote:

_It is my recommendation that the orphanage in Ellesmere be dismantled, and the children removed to a location that more reliably provides care and safety for these unique charges._

He wrote a few more sentences, the words coming as habit now. Unfortunate as it was, this was not the first orphanage he had made this recommendation for. But it would be for the best. There were rules to be followed after all, and if those masters could not, it was better for the children to have DICOMY find them a new home, until they could be adopted.

When he finished the report, he printed it and filed it in the appropriate place. In doing so, he had to cross the office, something he always dreaded. The desks were arranged too close together, and he always felt so ridiculous passing through them. Honestly, could these places not be accommodating to those employees who were anything more than rail-thin? It was simply absurd, and discriminatory. If Aziraphale had the inclination, he would have lodged a polite but stern complaint ages ago.

Of course, Aziraphale was not one to rock the boat. He valued this job too much.

And so, both out of a matter of there being no other choice and as an act of quiet rebellion, he bumped into desk after desk on his journey to the printer, to the files, and back to his desk.

“So sorry, pardon me, oh I do beg your pardon, sorry, sorry, sorry…”

Whatever this meeting was in the morning, perhaps it would give him something to do in the field, to get him out of his frustrating office for another day or two.

— — —

At quarter to nine the next morning, Aziraphale rose from his desk and made his disruptive way back out of the office to the elevators. He had arrived at seven that morning, too full of anxious energy to remain at home, pacing. He was sure there were dark circles under his eyes, as sleep had been out of the question last night, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

He caught Mr. Meyer’s eye at the edge of the room, and ducked his head.

Stay calm, he told himself. It was just a meeting. It was fine. Nothing to fear from a sudden interview, alone, with Extremely Upper Management. Surely this was routine.

He could handle it.

Now if his palms would just stop sweating.

The elevator ride seemed interminable, but at last the doors opened to the top floor. He had never been here before, few people ever had. In fact, he couldn’t think of any of his coworkers who _had_ been here.

But, it was fine.

He stepped into the stark white hallway after a moment of waffling in the elevator. It would also be fine if he left, at this moment, and never came back to work, right?

“Come on,” he whispered to himself. “Steady on.”

He strode forward, hoping he exuded more confidence than he felt. Which was to say, any confidence.

At the other end of the hallway was a door. Next to the door was a window, the metal grate pulled down. He rang the small bell next to the window, resolutely ignoring the way his hand trembled. In moments, the grate rattled up, and a round-faced, white-haired older man regarded him.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“Ah, y-yes. I’m here for a meeting.”

“Name?”

“Az-Aziraphale Fell.”

“One moment.” The man turned and consulted a computer screen. Aziraphale silently wished away the perspiration on his forehead, to no avail. By the time the man had clicked several buttons and read something on the screen, Aziraphale’s heart was pounding. What if he had made a typo in his last report, and now he was being sacked? What if this was an exit interview, and they hadn’t told him?

“Ah, Fell, yes.” The man spun back around to face him and nodded. “Here to see Extremely Upper Management. Come with me.”

He pressed a button, and a buzzer sounded. The door next to the window swung open, and Aziraphale stepped through.

He wanted to go home.

No, none of that. It was a meeting, and it was fine.

He was going to be sacked.

No, it was fine.

This silent war continued inside his head, as he followed the man down another brilliantly white hallway, lit with the same harsh iridescent track lighting as the first. They reached a door, which the man opened. He ushered Aziraphale into the next, just as bright, room.

“Mr. Fell is here,” the man announced, then retreated.

Aziraphale looked around. The room had floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, overlooking the city in all its gray and dreary glory. In the center of the vast, unadorned space, stood four people.

Aziraphale had seen them before, at his interviews years ago when he had been hired, as well as every lackluster holiday party since. They never visited the main office areas, it seemed, other than those times, but he thought he would have known them anywhere. They emanated authority.

“Mr. Fell!” the man named Gabriel said, in a voice so jovial it seemed forced. He was dressed in an immaculate dove gray suit, adorned with a pin in the shape of angel wings. Aziraphale felt rather shabby in comparison, even if this was his favorite bowtie. “Come in!”

Aziraphale came to stand before them with his hands clasped tight behind his back. “Hello.”

“How are you this morning, Mr. Fell?” Gabriel said.

“Fine.” He wanted to go home.

“Excellent, excellent.” Gabriel nodded, yet somehow seemed not to care at all. “We read your report from last month on the orphanage in Edinburgh.”

Oh, dear. Here it was. The fatal, career-ending typographical error. Or worse, he had missed some important detail, and the orphanage wasn’t going to be disbanded after all, and the children would have to stay with that awful master. And Aziraphale would still be sacked.

“It’s wonderful stuff.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh.”

“Very thorough. You seem to have an eye for detail.”

“I… I like to think so.”

Michael, a pale woman with a carefully pinned back bun, spoke next in her prim voice. “You were very observant and insightful in regards to the children. You must have gotten to know them well, during the two days you were in their company.”

“Oh, well…” Aziraphale fidgeted. “I suppose I did glean some things about their mental states, as they were affected by their environment. But I was not familiar with them. It wouldn’t be professional, making friends with either the orphans or the masters. As a caseworker, one must maintain a certain level of detachment.”

Michael nodded. “So you have no emotional stake in their lives?”

That was a loaded question. Aziraphale paused, wrong-footed. “Well, I don’t mean to imply that… that I don’t care about the children. Of course I do! They’re dear things, most of the time. And they deserve to have safe, nurturing environments in which they can be educated and prepared to enter society. Yes, they are… strange, much of the time, but they are children nonetheless. I care, but only enough, and not too much.”

Michael nodded, apparently satisfied.

The woman next to her, Uriel, a dark-skinned woman with golden eye shadow, tilted her head. “How many orphanages have you had shut down?”

He thought for a moment. “Five, in the past seventeen years.”

“Why?”

“Well… in those cases, I found negligence. Or a lack of experience or ability to provide sufficient care. Or, in a few cases, there was worse than negligence.”

She nodded, seeming to understand his implication.

“And what of the children in those orphanages?” Michael asked. “What became of them?”

Aziraphale was startled. “I’m sure I don’t know. That’s not in my job description, but I have complete faith that Supervision, and Extremely Upper Management”—he nodded with deference at them—“provided them with new homes until they could be adopted.”

Sandalphon, who had yet to speak, snorted. “Adopted.”

Michael turned to Gabriel. “He’s perfect, don’t you think?”

Gabriel nodded, grinning just a bit too wide. “He is.”

“For… for what?” Aziraphale couldn’t imagine what this was about.

“We have a new assignment for you, Mr. Fell,” Gabriel continued. “There’s a certain orphanage, in a village called Tadfield. We need to investigate, make sure everything is on the up and up.”

“Tadfield? I’ve never heard of it.” Aziraphale thought he knew all the orphanages, at least by name if not by personal visitation.

“It’s classified level four.”

“What?” He had only encountered orphanages or orphans who were level three at the highest. What on earth could level four entail? He swallowed, and it tasted sour with fear.

“Right, so it’s a bit out of the way, but we’ve provided transportation,” Gabriel was saying. “And we think, what did we say? Four weeks should be sufficient time to gather the information we need. You’ll send us weekly reports about what things are… afoot.” He glanced at his fellows, but Aziraphale couldn’t quite decipher their expressions. Then, Gabriel’s gaze was back on him, and the odd moment had passed. “Your train leaves at four p.m. on Monday. That should give you enough time to wrap up whatever reports you need to round here, then head out a bit early. Sound good?”

For a moment, Aziraphale could only gape. “Four weeks? Monday? I…”

“We’ve checked you out,” Gabriel barreled on, ignoring him. “You don’t have any family, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

He was technically correct, but Aziraphale didn’t exactly appreciate it, spelled out with such bluntness like that. “Don’t I have a say in this?” he asked at last, feebly.

Gabriel paused, eyebrows raising. Sandalphon sneered at him, while Michael and Uriel exchanged looks. “It’s an assignment, Mr. Fell,” Gabriel said slowly, as if Aziraphale were rather dim. “Besides, it’s your job, and you’re good at it. You should be pleased! This is an honor.”

Aziraphale nodded, resigned. “All… all right.”

“Excellent!” Gabriel clapped his hands together. “So, any questions?”

“Actually, yes—”

“Good, good,” Gabriel went on, obviously not listening. “So, here is your train ticket and the files about the orphanage. We’ll expect your first report to be sent at the end of the first week. Be as thorough as always, and be diligent. These are some of the most dangerous orphans in the system, and we need to make sure they’re contained.”

“Contained?” Aziraphale froze, fingers barely around the papers he was being handed.

Gabriel paused, considering. “Poor choice of words. Being cared for, of course. So. Let’s do this!”

Aziraphale neglected to point out that _he_ was the one who was going to be doing everything, and he watched with a mixture of irritation and anxiety as three of Extremely Upper Management turned and departed through a side door. Gabriel, however, hesitated to join them.

“Mr. Fell, I have to warn you. The master of this orphanage… Keep a close eye on him.”

Aziraphale wasn’t so befuddled that he couldn’t read between the lines of _that_ statement. “You don’t trust him?”

“I didn’t say that. Only, he’s unconventional. Don’t worry, any relevant information is in the files. Take a look at them once you get to Tadfield, you’ll see.”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling glum and dispirited at the thought of spending an entire month in what sounded like a dangerous situation, where he was sure to be viewed with suspicion. But Gabriel laughed. “Oh, come on, Mr. Fell, cheer up! This will be good for you! A month in the country, doing what you like best, this will be a holiday.”

It was quite literally a work assignment, the furthest thing from a holiday, but Aziraphale held his tongue.

“And maybe you can get some exercise,” Gabriel added. “Tighten that gut a bit.”

He nodded at Aziraphale’s round belly with a chuckle, clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder, and left.

Aziraphale watched him go, frowning. “I’m _soft_ ,” he muttered under his breath. “There’s no need to be rude.”

But of course, he wouldn’t dare say that to Gabriel’s face. He sighed as he gazed down at the thick file in his hands.

Well, it seemed he had his marching orders. He was going to Tadfield.


End file.
